Horns of the North
by Erugenel
Summary: A bookbinder's daughter has in her hands a book on the legendary horns of Rohan. From that day onwards, she makes a wish: to hear the music of those horns. Please READ AND REVIEW! COMPLETED
1. The horns

**I thought maybe I should do a story about Rohan, since i like povs and real-life situations. sooooo i now present you with... Horns of the North! **

**Disclaimer: not mine, only the bookbinder and his daughter. **

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**Horns of the North**

The first time I heard the Horns of Rohan was when I was young woman of seventeen, working as an apprentice bookbinder in my father's trade.

The first time I knew about the Horns of Rohan, I was only fifteen. Due to the numerous books that passed through our hands (for my mother was in another profession) by the time I was fifteen I had read quite a number of books already and my father would proudly say "There goes my little girl, always hungry for knowledge." Indeed, I was a voracious reader, and devoured every book that came through my hands I had possibly read more books than any other girl my age and possibly older in Minas Tirith.

Yet when one day the steward Lord Denethor's servant came in with a middle-sized, leather-bound book for repairing I felt that I must absolutely get my fingers on that book to read. I begged my father to let me mend it. At first he was reluctant to give a book of such value to me, saying I was young and inexperienced, (though he has often boasted about me being the best bookbinder he had ever apprenticed, having entered the trade at the age of eight) he relented soon after when I persisted.

That night, trembling in my excitement, I turned the ancient cover of the book and felt a thrill as I had never felt coursing through my body. On the first leave, yellowed with age, I saw the thick black strokes that spelt out: **_A brief history of Calenardhon or more commonly known as Rohan._**

Quickly checking the book, I found that some of the pages were falling out and some were torn and creased badly. I set about repairing them and because I wanted to read the book so badly that I finished my job earlier that expected. I then gently lifted the book from my workbench and, as if it was some sacred object, I slowly brought it over to my reading desk. While I waited for the glue to set in I had to finish repairing another book and sweep the floor. My family split the chores between us and it fell to me to sweep this week. And this week business was not as good, so I had more time on my hands.

Once settled in my chair and with my blanket around me to keep out the cold, I plunged into the vast depths of the book. Some of the things I knew already, such as the oath of Cirion and Eorl, but one chapter totally intrigued me and had me reading deep into the night. It was about the Horns of Rohan. I had never come across them in the other books that I had read. And now, sitting on my hard chair at my desk reading for so long that my bum began to ache, I felt a shiver go down my spine, as if the Horns were really blowing. At that moment, I had just one wish: to hear the horns of Rohan. It was said that the Rohirrhim only sounded their horns when they were going to charge into battle.

The next day, I was very sorry to see that book go. I had wanted to read more about those horns, or just to read once more about those legendary horns, sounding their music and casting their spell over me that only by hearing them would I awake. I begged my father to let me go to Rohan. Every time he refused me. When I told him of my secret desire, he laughed and patted my head, like a child and told me it was only a fantasy and that it would gradually fade away. But it did not. Every morning I would wake up with the wild hope that, like a longed- for-one, I would hear the distant cry of those magical horns echoing across the land. To me they were the embodiment of honour and valor, and a scion of the glory of the days of old. So every morn I would wake up and wish, that one of these dawns I would awake and hear them resounding across the plains.

Yet, life continued. I went on being the simple bookbinder's daughter, finding joy in my work and in the books that read. I never forgot that passage from the book:

In the darkness of the night,

The city's walls are ringed with flame.

Desperate is the defense of the gleaming

White walls that winds so gently passed.

From the east the sun rises,

Hope is born, the darkness flees

At the majestic sounding of the horns of Rohan,

The music of which shall never cease.

I waited. Never once did I give up, for in my heart I knew that the horns were alive and real, not just some passing fantasy that arose from my seemingly childish (to my father!) mind. Yet it was also something that I could hold on to, that the Rohirrhim would come to our white walls in times of need. So I wished for a thing that could never be fulfilled.

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how is it? Nice? Mediocre? Please review, it lights up my day :) 


	2. Dreams

**Sorry this chapter is so short. It is basically a reason why Nadia has such a yearning for the horns of Rohan. I will try to update as soon as i can. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the lotr universe. All the credit goes to Tolkien. Only Nadia and her uncanny thirst for knowledge is my own creation. **

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Horns of the North**

Now, Middle Earth is a place of growing turmoil and fear. From where my father's house is in the third circle I can see the black land of Mordor, the land I read about in the books I bound, the land which gave me nightmares as a little girl. Orodruin would ever be spewing forth the black somke which would cover all our lands in darkness.

Sometimes I would wake up screaming from hearing the cry of the Nazgul in my dreams, and my mother would come and sing an old Gondorian lullaby to soothe me and put me to sleep.

But being so close to the Black Lands, how could I sleep?

Because of the tales I read about Mordor, nightmares plagued my nights, when I would slip off my mask of courage and melt into the terror of those dreams. Yes, they haunted me by day too.

Sometimes I feared the dreams more than the blackness of the night. If I did not sleep, the orcs would not come for me. Yet, I would inevitably succumb to weariness, and not only did I have a bad night's sleep, but I had the memory of those horrors freshly imprinted in my mind once again when I thought all was over.

The dark dreams came constantly, but not every night. Only when my life reached a downside would they come back with a vengeance, their malicious, yellow eyes and terrible voices.

Sometimes I would dream of the orcs burning the White City, killing my family, my friends, burning, pillaging no end…

Sometimes it would be the Nazgul coming for me, on account of all I knew about them. It was a silly thought, but still…

At times I would at times curse my hunger for knowledge. There was a royal library up in the fifth circle, and the admission fee was very high, too high for even my father's thriving business to pay. So I begged the guard to let me in, I exchange for my "exceptional bookbinding skills" as he put it. So, under the alias of Sabine, the studious daughter of the noble Lord Hayden, I, Nadia, would quench my thirst for information. Now do I bitterly rue it, for now that knowledge gave me my nightmares, my own demons to chase after me.

Now that I think of it, the reason why the horns fascinated me so much was the promise of restful nights. I read that the sound of the horns of the Rohirrhim were able to instill fear into the hearts of their enemies, to render them immobile so as to slay them with a sweep of their long, shining swords.

It was during these times that I would thank Eru for giving me the hunger for knowledge.

Now, I knew that these terrors of my dreams could be defeated. I could finally stand in their presence in the darkness of the night, and I cried out less frequently. I was not able to laugh them in the face; to defy them like a true woman of Gondor should, as they still had a blanket of fear over me, though it was less stifling and heavy.

Therefore I longed for the liberation that only the horns of the North could give me.


	3. Calamity

**Horns of the North**

With my eyes still half-closed from sleep, I stumbled out of my small bed. The dreams came on and off. When they came, it would be with intensity that I would not be able to bear. When they left me alone, I found that on these precious dreamless nights some would be spent sleepless, wondering what would happen to me.

Y days were filled to the brim with activity, preparing the house for the siege and returning the books that we had repaired, but now there was an added gloom in the air, the dreaded knowledge that half of us would not survive the onslaught. I scurried around the city, making courtesy calls to those we considered our friends, comforting them and saying that we would pull though this ordeal. At the same time, I wondered if my words were true.

My body's physical capability was stretched to the limit and more often than not I would find myself throwing myself onto my bed and slipping into an instantaneous, if not dreamless, slumber.

Every morning I would go to the fifth circle, where I could see over the walls, and I would spend some quiet time there when everything was silent, and I would watch the sunrise. Then I would whisper a silent prayer, asking that I survive this terrible war. This morning, however, I woke up early, as usual, yet I did not leave the house. Walking about the house in my white cotton shift like some wraith from Dunharrow, the sun came not to warm my cold limbs.

The sun would not rise today.

Today was the day when we would decide whether we would live, or die.

Today, the hosts of Mordor issued forth from the black gates.

Strangely, I did not fear. Sometimes when your worst fears stare you in the face you tend to calm down. Shutting my bedroom door behind me, I changed into my day clothes, ready to start another day even if the rest of the world was not. From the window at the living room I could see Orodruin spewing forth great black clouds of smoke.

Getting dressed, I boldly stepped out into the streets and headed out for the market, ready to start a new day.

The streets were full of people milling around, trying to get things done before the storm broke. Some tried to go on with their daily lives. Some hid in their houses, already resigned to the fact that the world was going to end.

It was too late to run, nowhere to hide. Silent and resigned faces were all that I saw, not people trying to go about their normal lives even though they desperately wanted to. In these times of trouble, sometimes trivial attachments help ease the worry.

Father had still opened shop today, in the hope that someone would stop by to collect their books or have them repaired. Yet no one came. I am sure repairing their books was not one of their priorities right now. The noble had all retreated into their shells, not caring for the world below, only for themselves. But not even the citadel was safe. Where would we hide?

Someone abruptly brushing past me rudely pulled me out of my reverie. Normally I would curse under my breath, but now, I had not the heart to do so. It was as if the coming battle had sobered my defiant mood somewhat. During these times and you still want to have a squabble with someone? Please.

My empty satchel bumped against my side every now and then, and I was painfully aware of the fact that I might not live to walk these white streets again. Well, if it was going to be my last few days, or hours on earth, I might as well do something worthwhile.

Stepping quietly into well furnished library on the sixth circle, I greeted my friend the guard inquiring about his family and other pleasantries. I was surprised that the library was even open; maybe the White City's welfare committee made that move in a bid to restore whatever normalcy we could grasp in our already disordered lives. I wandered around the elegant bookshelves, letting the familiar scent of my beloved books take hold of me. Reaching for a book, I gasped.

_**A brief history of Calenardhon or more commonly known as Rohan.**_

I never expected to choose the one I mended so many years ago, in the darkness of the night. The book on Rohan. Settling myself in a chair, I turned the pages until I came to the all too familiar chapter on my favourite subject: the Horns of the North.

I waited for the familiar sensation of thrill mixed with a sense of warm security to wash over me again as I read the words of so long ago. I had never expected to see this book ever again. Yet now it was right in front of me.

Maybe it was a sign. A sign that we would survive this… this terrible war and have peace once again. Could the horns give me that assurance? Only time would tell.

_In the darkness of the night, _

_The city's walls are ringed with flame. _

_Desperate is the defense of the gleaming_

_White walls that winds so gently passed._

_From the east the sun rises,_

_Hope is born, the darkness flees_

_At the majestic sounding of the horns of Rohan,_

_The music of which shall never cease. _

I furrowed my brow in confusion. Where had _that_ come from? It was as if someone had suddenly flicked a switch in my head. I was still at the passage where they described how the horns were made and I had not yet come to the poem.

_Strange…_

And that was when I was startled out of my daydreams once again, this time more rudely, by someone shouting my name.

"Nadia, come quick! You must escape this madness _at once!_"

And when I put my head out the window I felt as if I was going to faint...

**Sorry about the cliffhanger! I felt I had to do it as I didn't want the chappies to be tooo long. Sorry for such a long wait… I went on a vacation. I will try to update soon, what with school reopening and all. So… hang in there!**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!**

**Erugenel **


	4. Music

**Sorry to every one for taking so long! This chapter is dedicated to nightzodiac, who won't stop bugging me for this chapter since she is sitting next to me in school. Read her stories in fruits basket. They're really good!**

**Thanks to all my lovely reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it.**

**Horns of the North**

Time seemed to stop when I gazed out the window. Somehow, an unknown force had frozen my limbs, so I stood there, rooted to the spot like a sitting duck.

The fields of the Pelennor were filled with marching ranks and columns of orcs, black as the night. Siege-towers were pushed along by monstrous trolls the colour of dirty rags, and in background, the distant, terrifying noise of drums, great instruments built in the dark land of Mordor, their purpose to instill fear into the hearts of their enemies. I could hear the rough, brutal chanting and the war-cries of the orcs, a harsh cacophony of sounds reverberating across the fields and Mount Mindolluin.

Their cries reeked of a blood-lust so old that it had become insatiable.

I might not live to see another tomorrow.

I did not know how long I had stood there, only that it was long enough, for a rough hand grabbed me and ushered me unceremoniously from the library. All I could think of was:

_The hosts of Mordor have come_

I was faced with these creatures from my dreams almost nightly, yet now, when faced with the horrors from my dreams, I found I could not move. I could not think. All I registered was that I was running, running down a stone corridor, running for my life. I needed somewhere to hide, for in the face of Death many quail, and I was one of them.

But where would I hide?

Many in the city were asking the same question.

A great shriek meant to drive fear into our hearts rent the air. Cold, terrifying. I recognized it at once. The brave fell to the ground, groveling. The weak fainted.

The Nazgul had come.

My feet carried me to a place well known by many. The Houses of Healing. I had come here often, fascinated by the intriguing sights and smells, following the healers around, quenching my thirst for knowledge. Now I fled to it as a place of refuge.

I hurried into the building, already it was readying for the onslaught. I would pass a healer wringing his or her hands, hurrying off to somewhere. They could not hide, they had a duty to carry out.

"Nadia. Nadia!"

I turned around to see who it was. It was my friend, Miriel, a healer. At least ten years older than me, I looked to her more as a big sister and a mentor, and she had helped me in my quest for information, answering my queries, recommending good books and such. Her face was usually cheerful and sunny, yet now it broke my heart to see her so careworn and frightened.

"Oh Nadia, this is terrible! The orcs are advancing on our city! Will the soldiers be able to hold them off? _Will Rohan come? _What will we do…?"

"Miriel, stop! We cannot carry on like this! We must be brave, for our lives and for the city's survival! Pray to Eru that you have the strength to go on!"

"I cannot imagine if the city were taken! What would happen to us then? We would—'' She suddenly broke off, as if too terrified to say the word "_die", _or maybe saying would be a taboo. I gripped her shoulders tightly and shook her once, to get her out of her frantic state.

"Miriel, _listen to me._ We will be fine if we work together and have faith. It is no use if everyone were in bouts of lunacy. I am here. I will do what I can to help. "I assured her.

She gave a long sigh, as if calmed somewhat, then said "You are right. I should be keeping my head in times like this. Yet aren't people allowed at least some measure of craziness?" she said, probably trying to justify her actions. I smiled and replied "When there is peace you can be crazy all you want."

She gave a tiny giggle. "But what of Rohan?" she asked.

I felt a tingle go down my spine. I thought for a long time. Finally, I said "I don't know."

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I stayed in the houses of healing while the battle raged on. I could hear the great marching of the army, marching us to our doom. Tremors shook the citadel. Some braver ones chanced a look out the window and reported that the orcs were firing great boulders at us with their trebuchets, and likewise our Gondorian army responded with theirs. A fierce battle of volley fire was ensuing. I could hear the shouts and the roar of the fighters. The siege towers were rapidly approaching the walls. Silently I whispered a prayer that the soldiers of Gondor be brave in their duty, and that we should live to see the dawn.

My survival was still not certain.

A mind chilling thought struck me, numbing me to the very core. An image of my parents flashed suddenly in my mind. In my haste to escape I had forgotten all about them! Where were they now? Were they alright? A barrage of thoughts came crashing into me. What if I survived, and they did not? What if I was left alone, an orphan in the white city? What if no one would look after me after the war? What if we lost the war? What if, what if…

I was plagued by these two words, What if. In them they held a meaning that what was possible could come true, that your very nightmares could come and meet you at the door. It was the power of probability, where the mind is besieged by unpleasant, probable thoughts of the future, all of them bridged by two words: what if.

What would I do? Whither would I go? I got up from my seat in the corner, my feet falling into a familiar pattern pacing across the floor, restlessly, desperately, as if that would bring back my parents to me and win the battle. Yet I knew it would not. I needed hope, comfort. Hope that we would survive. Comfort if my parents did not.

I knew that I was capable of handling the shop by myself. It was registered under both my father and my name. People had always said how capable I was, that I would follow my father's trade, handing it down from generation to generation. But a part of me wanted to say that I was not ready, that when the war was over my father would come back and start the shop again.

An image of my mother came into my mind, unbidden. I could picture her, my dear sweet _Naneth,_ being swept away by a great wave of orcs, her body tossed hither and thither like a rag doll, dying all alone. Her hand reached out, reaching, waiting for my father or me to come and grasp it and save her. But no one came. No one could. And where was my father?

_Stop it,_ I told myself angrily before an image of my father invaded my thoughts. I gad to be strong. I was not a healer, and we were in a middle of a war. The last thing they wanted was a hysterical mass of nerves on their hands.

I saw nothing of my friend Miriel. I was all alone.

Night

The pure pitch of the night sky was a mirror of the blackness in the hearts of our enemies: pure and full of a long, deep hatred. The battle waged on below, and overhead, the starless sky gave no comfort, for they came not to celebrate the falling of night when the earth was beset with atrocities such as this. The inhabitants of the white city waited in fear. Fire streaked across the sky, mocking the stars for not coming out now.

When one sits cooped up in a room all day, one tends to hear things. And I did. Rumors spread that the Lord Faramir was in pain, burning in a fever induced by a black dart from above. The winged Nazgul. Some said Faramir was dying. Some even said that he was-

_Dead_

NO!

Faramir, the beloved son of Denethor, brother to Boromir the brave, captain of the Ithilien Rangers. He was much more contemplative and thoughtful than his brother, who preferred solving things with a sword and not a word. Boromir was a man of action. Faramir was a man of reflection. Yet the two brothers were loved throughout Gondor. But Denethor only loved Boromir.

And now with Boromir dead, what of Faramir? What of the captain of Gondor?

_The citizens of Minas Tirith waited at the walls, watching and praying as the company of soldiers made their way across the Pelennor, harried by the wing and fell beasts, atop them the Nazgul. In our hearts we knew that the battle at osgiliath was lost, and we had lost the city, overrun by orcs. People bit their lips and prayed that they would make it across. But would they, with such fearsome beasts at their tails?_

_A joyful shout arose from among the crowd. Mithrandir was coming to their aid! We all watched, transfixed as a bright shaft of pure white light stabbed upwards into the winged terrors, driving them to retreat to their dark abode. Yes, the soldiers would make it yet. The Lord Faramir was with them. He could master both man and beast._

_The city's spirits were lifted for a while at the return of the Lord Faramir. Yet too much joy was drowned upon. We were at war. This was a time to mourn. _

_The people quickly dispersed to their homes. I strolled to my own home. What would the Lord Steward Denethor say? What would be his verdict on the upcoming war? _

_Some hours later, I saw the people crowding the streets. Some holding flowers, all were downcast and sorrowful. Tapping the shoulder of the person nearest to me, I enquired at what was the matter._

"_The Lord Faramir is to ride out to re-take osgiliath."_

"_But he only just arrived! Surely the Lord Steward must let his son rest!" I protested._

"_The Lord Steward cares not for his son; some even say he is mad!"_

_I reeled at this revelation. But I had no time to think. Faramir was leading his men in a slow procession down the streets of Minas Tirith, armour-clad, his whole company on horse-back. The families of the soldiers going with him wept, throwing flowers in the path of the horses, giving them a final blessing as they marched to certain death. My heart bled for them, and soon I found tears rolling down my cheeks. Mithrandir rushed to block the procession._

" _Faramir, Faramir!" he called._ "_Your father's will has turned to madness! Do not throw away your life so rashly!" _

_He replied, "Where does my allegiance lie, if not here?"_

"_Your father loves you, Faramir! He will remember it before the end."_

_By now I could not take it any longer. Turning on my heel I marched back to my house._

_A few hours later, they brought him in, half-dead, while the entire city wept. _

_Tears in stone_

We would not go down without a fight.

That was what I vowed to myself before the battle began. The Gondorians were a race of strong, proud people. We came from across the sea. We will not fall!

Now I wondered if words would come true. It was easier said than done. Now our forces were in dire need of some aid. I looked out the window once more, as is to steel myself against the oncoming forces of evil that would come and kill us all. Maybe.

A great figure in the shape of a raving, murderous wolf with a flaming mouth inched slowly forward towards the gates. As I stared out in the heavy gloom, my eyes slowly made it out to be a wolf's head, wrought of metal, pulled by great beasts. The valiant archers of Morthond fought to bring the orcs and beasts down, but as one fell, many more came to take their place. A shiver ran through me, colder than any other that I had felt before. Realization hit me full in the face.

A battering-ram.

They aimed to break down the mighty gates of Minas Tirith! It was a clever move, for the gate was the only opening in the otherwise impregnable walls of stone. I watched helplessly as made its way to the gates, and in the resounding din I could hear its name being chanted by the hordes of orcs.

Grond, the namesake of the great mace that Morgoth used in his final battle against Fingolfin.

Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld.

Slowly, it swung once with a deliberate force, all the while I was holding my breath, hoping, praying. Please, let the gates hold!

And they did, for the first swing. A second time, another blow on the gates. The gates still held.

At the third, the gates broke and the hosts of Mordor poured in. I closed my eyes in horror. The end had come. They would overrun the city, hacking, slashing at everything to fuel their anger and hatred at all free beings of this world. They would not stop while any of us lived, and there would be no escape.

Would Rohan come?

Every one was now in a state of utter despair. I could hear the cries of soldiers as they were cut down by the orcs. The night seemed to an everlasting blanket of darkness weighing down upon us all. I dozed off, only to find that my nightmares were still awaiting me, biding their time to drag me down into their abyss. I could not let them win. But how?

Then I heard the galloping and the pounding of hooves, the rustling of banners and the clinking of armor. Light slowly stole across the dark horizon, light up the sky in a blaze of glory. The clouds parted, and the sun leapt up to give homage to the day.

And what I saw on the horizon made my heart stop.

Long ranks of warriors atop horses grasping spears, readying swords, listening to their leader speak to them as they prepared to charge into battle.

Along with the sunrise came Gondor's aid.

Rohan has come.

Their cries of Death gave me the courage to carry on. I felt tears in my eyes as they prepared to fight for a country that was not their own.

And then such a sweet sound filled the air with its music, echoing among the hills, filling up the place with its immeasurable power.

The Horns of the North.

I had heard them at last.

**Sorry for taking such an inordinate amount of time for this chapter! Should I continue this story? Drop me a review to give me your ideas!**

**Erugenel **

Note: _Naneth_ means "mother" in elvish


	5. Epilouge

**Horns of the North**

We had won the battle. The next day, I awoken to find the Pelennor fields devoid of any enemies, yet it was scattered with the carcasses of our man and theirs. I spent a hectic day helping the healers bring the injured in for treatment. It pained my heart to see so many valiant men, man who left their families and lives behind to give us hope. But will we win?

The Lords of the west had left for the Black Gate. I knew not if this was a desperate gamble or not, yet we needed to have faith in our King. The Lord Aragorn, they say, was the heir to the throne of Gondor. Would he defeat the enemies? Would Middle Earth be safe again?

This was a question I asked myself all the time, and no matter how I searched, I could not find the answer.

Yet now, my heart was at peace. I had heard the music of the Horns of the North. No matter if we won or lost, my dreams would never come and bother me again.

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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT**

**Due to the response of some readers to continue the story, I have decided that I will. Those who think this chapter is too short please drop in a review and tell me.**

**My continuation of the story will be a sequel. It is no longer about the Horns of the North, but more of Nadia. And it will be a romance. It is my first step into this particular genre, even though I read so much of it. Please go read it when I post it!**

**Hannon le**

**Erugenel **


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